


ethereal

by radiumbrain



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Nightmare, Other, PTSD, Recovery is bumpy, Stan twins - Freeform, Stangst, Suicidal Ideation?, blood/horror tw, brotherly woes, ford the hug monster, stan the grump with a heart of gold, stan twins fluff, talking it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiumbrain/pseuds/radiumbrain
Summary: Ford has dreams. They aren't always good ones.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	1. Bloodied and Battered

Ford had spent many hours in his study, researching the digestive process of the Barred Owl; nothing particularly special—though owls were his favorite bird—but it was a simple task he was set on completing for the day. Anything to keep himself busy and productive. 

But once the sun set, and the room grew dark, a sudden lethargy had come over him. 

These bouts of fatigue were not uncommon; Ford was well aware of his age, and that combined with the many years of survival he’d fought for were beginning to weigh in on him. Though it was merely eight, he felt it was best to place his findings away for the night and head to sleep. 

He turned to the sofa, where his eyes met the plaid blanket Mabel had given him on a recent visit. 

_“Grunkle Ford, you needed a new blanket, so I got one for you!”_

Oh, how he'd missed those kids.

The nights since had been, for the most part, met with peaceful slumber—a welcome break from his usual fretful sleep. Tonight, Ford had no reason to expect anything different, though something in his stomach wanted to disagree. 

The sky outside had a faint glow from the lemony moon. The old scientist shut off his lamp and crawled onto the couch drowsily. He removed his sweater, as the nights were still warm from the lingering summer, and crawled into his nest.

For a while—despite the fatigue looming over his eyes, clouding his head—he stared up at the ceiling and swore for a moment that the moon had shifted in shape; but glass stained windows would do that to the eye. 

_Paranoia_ —that’s all, he reminded himself. Soon he was dozing off. And then, Ford was asleep. 

********  
It seemed as if there was nothing. He felt conscious, but the rest of him was numb. A sense of gyration overcame him. Stars danced about. 

This was all so...familiar. But why?

Ford reached out to grasp something, **anything** , but hopelessly flailed against thin air. _Am I falling? Flying?_ The old man spun around frantically as he, regrettably, came to the sensation that he was being forcefully absorbed into the atmosphere. Agony against flesh and bone. 

Gravity did not spare him. No mercy. 

The man, suddenly younger (or so he felt), his body more equipped for danger, his lungs far from retirement, tried to shout for help but he was still considerably weak—his skin felt as if it had been lit aflame. As he enveloped the universe, streaks of neon light danced and zoomed past his scrambling limbs. Same sensation as before, yet faster.

Sounds of maniacal laughter flooded his ears. 

Ford’s screams were deafened and his throat easily grew raw and slightly bloodied from their power.

His voice, Bill’s voice, of course, it had to be—it was ornery. It echoed across the expansion of the sky and tormented the hardened scientist. It could break even the most determined man if it wanted to. Each cackle was like a knife being shoved through Ford's spine, and soon he found himself old again; his ankles and wrists were weighed down by steel shackles and his body grew weak; his vision was giving out, his heart rate slowed.

Bill was there; by the snap of the triangular demon’s fingers, he gained the energy to propel thousands of volts throughout his victim’s body. 

Pure satisfaction. Bill got off on it, the perverse action of watching the man suffer before him and writhe in agony. Ford could smell blood all around himself. It had spilled out of his body in various areas and the triangle relished in it.

“Thought you were safe from me, eh, Fordsy? I suppose you thought you could ever get away from ‘ol Bill? Well I'm still here!” 

Ford was irate, of course, but no longer had the energy to fight. That was all he'd done for over thirty years. The weight on his limbs was excruciating and tears involuntarily spilled over his face. 

He did not want to give Bill any semblance of pleasure, but it was unbearable. His throat was swollen and his body was fading—Ford shut his eyes to spare himself some humiliation; he soon found that they would not open again.

And then, the world grew dark and his consciousness faded out. The last sensation he seemed to know was pain.

\---------  
The next place Ford found himself was on a floor of solid concrete. It was cool, a shock to his body. The metal plate in his head seemed to freeze against it. His skull felt like it had experienced a vicious beating. When he opened his eyes, he saw a younger Stan staring down at him. Stan was crying. 

_I’m still alive? Wait, why am I here?_ Ford frantically thought of any feasible explanation.

“Stanford, my god! The portal...you.......almost went in.....you okay?”

“What..?”

Stan grabbed him by the collar and held his brother in his arms. Ford was remarkably delirious and nauseated, and shut his eyes again; a few moments later he lifted them open and found that Stan was still holding him there, only this time rugged and older—his present self. 

“Ford, you’re back! Why did you leave me?”

“Stan—“

“30 years! You look terrible, what happened to you out there?”

Ford reached out in anguish but his brother seemed to have faded into thin air. What sort of cruel joke was this, anyway? Desperate, he called out for help and began to claw at the ground until his nails were rugged, some broken, with blood caked underneath. 

Bill’s cackles reverberated in his aching head. 

Ford didn’t know what else to do. He sat there and took it. Maybe it would make it end sooner. He was ashamed, but he wanted so badly to have it _end_. 

******

A warm hand was on his head. It was tepid, clammy—neither a dead cold nor a damning heat, just a lukewarm touch. Ford could feel his heartbeat going fast as the speed of light (an exaggeration in his mind, of course, though he was certain it was real) and tried to fully assess where he was now. 

“‘s okay, buddy. I’m right here. Take it easy.”

What was this, _another_ cruel joke? Hadn't Bill had enough?

“Stan..” Ford muttered.

“Yup? Everything’s fine. You were dreaming again. I heard you yelling in your sleep.”

Ford was not keen on accepting that. He was sure he was in his own personal hell. That this was still his reality, or at least apart of the same horrid dream. 

A wet cloth to the forehead distracted him from his panic, gently soothing his body out of its stupor, cooling his nerves. It was an odd comfort, the same one he felt often as a child when his mother would do the same for him while ill or restless during the night. 

“You ok? I’m worried about ya,” Stan remarked.

“I don’t know.” 

Ford propped himself up despite the glare his brother sent him—visualizing, feeling, breathing, trying to be certain he was safe. 

“Bill?”

“Yes...I don’t know what came over me. Stanley, I swear, I was just tired and went to sleep early, I wasn’t expecting this to happen tonight! I haven't been this bad in a long while.”

Stan patted his twin’s shoulder, soothing him. 

“Don’ worry..wasn’t real.”

Ford noted how out of it his brother sounded; surely Stan had also been in a deep sleep, though his had likely been calmer. He felt an immense guilt come over him. 30 years worth of Stan’s nights had been spent losing out on sleep. Even though he was back from the portal—the “dead” so to speak—Stan was still here fussing over him.

“ Stan, I’ll be okay. I appreciate the concern, but I want you to go back to sleep. God knows you need it.”

“Oh, Sixer, can it, would ya? I’m not letting my brother be tormented by that bastard triangle, fiction or reality! I’m not leavin’ your side. Sleep is for chumps anyway.”

The two old men sent each other a stare of temperament before Stan graciously cackled and patted his brother on the head. 

“Ford, you’re a knucklehead, y’know?”

“Oh, be serious! Stan, I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans.”

“Well, I’m not sleepin’ until I know you’re relaxed. I’ll stay here the whole night if I have to, I’d rather joke around than have you on edge anyway.” 

“Absolutely not,” Ford hissed through his teeth, and Stan knew he meant it, “my traumas are not something you should bare witness to, and I’m certainly not in the mood to laugh.”

“As if I don’t have any!” 

Ford winced at that statement, no longer feeling it a use to argue. He sighed heavily before patting the other side of the couch.


	2. Talking it Out

Stan was awfully protective of his brother. Everyone knew it, but only Stan knew just how _much_. He’d do anything for him, and he knew Ford would do the same even if he was stubborn at times and too proud to admit it. But now wasn’t the time to think, communication was key. 

“He hurt you, huh?”

Stan was whittling at some dead skin on his hand, a nervous habit he’d formed for no particular reason other than a distraction, but he’d hoped his tone was serious. 

“Well, I hate to tell you this Stanley, but he's always hurt me. Tonight was nothing new. ” Ford remarked.

“I know that, dingus. But I’m sayin’, he still hurts you? _That badly?_ Man, if I could kill him —“

An impeccable silence followed; the thick gulp of saliva in the throat, some shifting of the covers. A heavy and defeated sigh, oddly worn and so unlike anything Stan had heard. 

“Ford—“

“Yes, Stan, _that_ badly. I can’t escape it. The dreams are few and far between now, they don’t happen as often as they used to, but they _hit_ me just the same. My body feels like it was hit by a truck, even if it wasn’t real. Right now I’m so out of it.”

“I know how ya feel,” Stan murmured.

When Ford looked up at him, Stan was still whittling away at his fingers.

“You were in my dream tonight. You were there, holding me. It was sort of like that night—the one where...well, you know. But then you were old, like you are now, and I think that was supposed to be akin to the night I returned.”

“ _Really?_ “ Stan exclaimed.

“Yes, you were upset and—“

Ford paused and caught a glimpse of his brother’s “tattoo” when Stan turned for a moment. Such a grim reminder. His fingers shakily traced the symbol. Though over thirty years had passed, the skin remained slightly rugged and raised. 

_God_ , how _**badly**_ he wished it could be healed entirely. 

“Ah, Ford, don’t beat yourself up..”

Stan was surprised to hear a soft sob escape from his brother’s throat. 

“Have I ever sincerely told you how sorry I am?” Ford said. 

“Many times, actually. Who’s countin’, anyway?”

“It never feels like enough, Stan, it eats at me—digs at my soul. Even when I feel we’ve moved on I’m given these painful reminders, mostly in my dreams. It never ends. And yet here I am, selfishly reflecting on my side when surely it still affects _you_?”

Stan shrugged, “Well, sure. It sucks. I wish I could go back and just...I dunno, hug you? Tightly. Refuse to let go, even if you were angry with me.”

“I wish we’d done it differently, really. I was horrid to you.”

“I wasn’t a pretty picture myself, Poindexter. We’re brothers. Brothers fight sometimes and they hold grudges.”

“For a _decade_ , Stan? We really were stubborn, weren’t we?” 

“ _Were_?” Stan exclaimed. 

The two of them chuckled at each other. What started as awkward and pained turned into them nearly knocking heads from laughing so hard, before the conversation oddly snapped back into a serious tone. 

“I shouldn’t have created that monstrosity,” Ford remarked, “you had no idea, you didn’t mean to...I still can’t fathom how you managed to reactivate it and waste years of rest on me.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Stan conceded, “I did it because you’re my brother. We gotta stick together y’know? Sure it was traumatic, but I shouldn’t hold it against you. You’ve suffered enough.”

“You do realize what you managed to do is incredible, don’t you?” Ford persisted. 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t just mean bringing me home, but _everything_ , Stan. You never give yourself credit where it’s due. The mathematics? The willpower?” 

“Eh, I don’t deserve it. Anyone would do the same.”

“Why discredit yourself? Without you none of this current conversation, let alone anything since my return, would be possible. I owe you my _life_ ,” Ford insisted, “Stanley, I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m _**thankful**_ for you. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and even if I didn’t express that in the past, I hope I’m doing so now.”

For Stan, this statement was more than enough. He didn’t need to be chided as a hero, but deep down he needed to hear this routinely. Ford loved him, had never _hated_ him; the two of them were simply taken over by emotion and had a tendency to butt heads. If the portal hadn’t been another obstacle, perhaps their resentment would have been solved far earlier. They both knew it deep down. 

“Yeah, you sure are showin’ it. I appreciate that, I know you’re trying to be better. I am too. We don’t need to dwell on it anymore, but I know it’s hard for you. I’m always here, y’know. And by the way—you being back here is worth those sleepless nights.”

Suddenly, Stan was overcome by a strenuous hug, one with such strength that Ford hardly gave, except for moments like these when he was truly moved. His arms were tightly wound so that Stan could hardly breathe. 

“Stan?”

“Ya?”

“Do you think you could..stay here? Just for the night, I mean—I’m feeling better, but awfully tired. I think it would be far easier to sleep through the rest of the night knowing I’m not alone.”

“Of course I can.”

Ford patted the other side of the couch for Stan to lay on. Soon, they were both asleep. 

In the morning, the only Bill in existence would once again be a memory.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two to come soon :]


End file.
